


Bioshock: Leagues of Time

by TheAvalonCode



Category: BioShock
Genre: Adventure, Combat, Gen, Horror, Major Character(s), Minor Character(s), Mystery, Retelling, Science Fiction, Violence, new content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-23 10:29:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8324356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAvalonCode/pseuds/TheAvalonCode
Summary: Relive the tale of Bioshock through the eyes of its prodigal son. But there were things that even he chose to ignore and never share. Perhaps now, to a new stranger he will recount the full tale, and beyond.





	1. The Cage

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a WIP, and subject (occasionally) to change. I'm fairly new to AO3, so if I miss any trigger tags or there are problems with the content, please let me know. I'll be happy to make amends. Please, enjoy my work here, and look forward to some interesting developments. Do note, this fic won't be a direct re-telling of the game's events. By the end of Chapter 3 or 4, things will be diverging into a new place and will only touch on the crucial parts of the original game.

** Bioshock – Leagues of Time **

_Bleep, Bleep, Bleep._

The elderly man, condemned to his pristine white bed, took another heavy and rattling breath. Gone were his days of sprinting, leaping, dodging and fighting. In fact, he could barely get the energy to move at all, it had been a fair few months since his feet had touched the cold hospital ground. Fortunately, he still had an amount of control over his speech. His hazel eyes travelled wearily from the closed ward door to his left, and over to the long window opposite him. Through it, he could see the hospital grounds which featured a number of well-groomed beech trees and a fountain which gently spewed water. His mind absently noted the fact it was on. They must have repaired it overnight, it had been broken for the last two weeks. Though it did sputter a bit on Thursday. A long moment passed before he spotted another patient slowly making their way along a gravel path, hospital aide in tow. He wondered if he could still walk. The muscle therapy helped, but it couldn’t stop the tightness in his limbs.

_Bleep, bleep, bleep._

        But whilst his body looked aged and withered, his mind was far too young. Still in the very midst of life. Which made his position all the more unbearable. Even then, he could still recall countless moments from his life, the feeling of being _alive_. But it had all ended and before long had left him entombed in his own body. His mind would tick over, bouncing ideas and theories, memories and random thought. He would wish with all his might to get up and walk off, out of this place, to feel the sun on his skin again.

        It wasn’t all bad though. Two or three times per week, he would receive a visitor. It helped ease his mental trouble, having someone to talk to. The visitor was usually one of his girls, come to relay new information or gossip. Rachel’s little girl was now going into preschool. Susan was getting married. Megan decided to follow a degree in… law? No, was it Neuroscience? Yes, that made more sense. Often, they would talk about these things, or some news about the world. But never would they talk about the old days. Not that the old man minded. He would have spoken on that subject, but he knew it would be difficult on his girls to recall. No need to put them in pain for his closure.

        He felt the corners of his mouth inch upwards into a small smile at the thought of his family. They were reliable, fiery girls. Good people all around. They too had their own families and futures. Sometimes, they would thank him for the opportunity, but he would always shake his head and simply say “It was the right thing to do,” in that soft voice of his.

        His fond thoughts were interrupted by a gentle knocking at his door. He turned to look, but didn’t say anything. After a few years here, he came to know that there was no point in inviting the staff in. Usually, they would just stride in anyway. Lo and behold, a few moments later, the door was opened and one of the ward’s nurses poked his head over the threshold. “Ah, sorry for interrupting.”

        The elderly man knew this young gentleman well. He was one of the many on site staff members assigned to him and was a pleasant enough sort. Not the chattiest, but that could be nice now and then. That list of staff expanded past the hospital and into genetic specialists and some of the more versed minds in America. Not a one could come to a conclusion on the man’s advanced aging. Of course, the man himself had plenty of theories, backed up by his girls, but it wouldn’t be worth sharing that to the staff. God only knows what havoc that may have wreaked. For now, he kept those skeletons in his closet. With a slight not of the Man’s head, the Nurse continued. “You have a visitor, sir. Are you well enough to see them?”

        There was no pause in the man’s response. He was more than happy to have another distraction. Plus it would be nice to see who would visit him in the middle of the day. Most of his girls would be busy. The Nurse smiled and stepped away, speaking to someone out of sight. “He’ll see you, but please be careful. He’s pretty frail. Though, I guess you knew that.”

        The aged man frowned. Whilst the Nurse’s words were true, it brought him no pleasure to hear it said. Whilst he was thinking on the subject, he heard the door close and two _click-clacks_ of heels on the floor.

        “It’s… really you.”

        That brought a pause to the Man’s thoughts. An unfamiliar voice, but then again, it rang a bell somewhere in his mind. A young woman’s voice. Focusing back on the present, he casts his sunken eyes on the speaker, only to squint in confusion.

        The speaker was indeed a young woman, attractive but in an old fashioned way. She wore a white sundress with a blue jacket covering her shoulders, and had her hair in a bob that left a few strands of hair brushing by her jaw. Around her slender neck was some sort of lacy choker with a brooch affixed to it. The woman walked a little closer, carefully. In fact it was as though she was moving with caution, like a believer before their god. “You’re older than I thought you would be. How long has it been…?”

        The question didn’t seem to be directed at him, but he chuckled all the same. The man gestured to a chair nearby him, which the woman elegantly sat in, crossing her legs. “I’m sorry miss,” murmured the old man, “I don’t believe we’ve met.” He searched her face for some sort of familiar trait. Baby blue eyes met his, and there was a short moment’s connection. Despite that, the old man had said the truth, this was not a person he knew.

        The woman smiled gently, sweetly, and reached over to hold onto his exposed forearm with a small and warm hand. “No, we haven’t.” The old man felt a slight chill from something. Glancing down, he noticed a small metal object, perhaps a thimble, affixed to the woman’s pinky. “But I’m glad we’re meeting now. I… I need your help.” She squeezed his arm a little, but there was worry in her voice.

        “I don’t think I’m in a state to help you out, ma’am.”

        “You are. Just not in the way you think.” He furrowed his brow at that. What could he do for this stranger, who seemed to have known him somehow, without the man having any recollection of her? “I need… to understand. I thought it would all make sense to me, but it doesn’t. It’s like the door is closed off to me, there’s a gap. A gap I need to fill.” It sounded as though the woman was troubled. The old man sighed. Someone needed his help, and as always, he could offer as much as he could. But with each coming year, his ability to help had lessened.

        He looked up from her hand on his arm and smiled weakly. “What can I do for you then?”

        The woman let go of his arm and folded her hands in her lap. She looked away for a brief moment, as though thinking. Almost fighting the words, she asked: “What… happened in Rapture?” She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye for some sort of reaction.

        Imperceptibly, the man stiffened up at the very mention of that place. His blood ran as cold as those underwater walkways he had once ran through, hell at his heels. But externally, he gave away nothing. His face remained impassive, then shifted to a look of confusion. “I’m sorry ma’am. I don’t know what that is,” he responded stiffly, looking out of the window again.

        The woman sighed and nodded, then stood up from her chair. She reached for his face, and gently turned it towards her own. In her eyes the old man saw desperation, sorrow, guilt but above all else, the fire of someone with a mission. Even deeper, he found knowledge far beyond his own. “Please. I need to know.” Her voice held steady this time, but her bottom lip wobbled for just a second.

        Would it be worth telling this woman these secrets that very few others knew of? The only others privy to this information were the others that had managed to escape Rapture, his girls included. It had been a dark time, painful, as it always is when discovering the truth. The girl reached to cup his face in her hands, and for a moment, the only sound in the room was the _bleep_ ing of his heart rate monitor. It had sped up somewhat.

        “How much do you need to know?” He breathed. The woman’s gentle hold on him was released as she relaxed, heaving a heavy sigh of relief.

        “Thank you, so much. And I need to know… everything.”

        The old man chuckled and let himself relax into his bed some more. The woman had fell back to her chair and watched him with wide eyes. It would be a long story, but he hoped it would give her what she needed. “I hope you have plenty of time, ma’am.”

        “More than anyone else.”

        “Well then… It started when I was visiting my ‘cousins’ in England, for my Mom and Dad.”

        The heart rate monitor sped up a little more, but only slightly.

        “They told me: Son, you’re special. You were born to do great things. And you know what?” The old man wheezed a short chuckle and looked over to the woman listening to him in wonder.

        “They were right.”


	2. Welcome to Rapture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so the story begins, with a young man's descent into the depths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the first appearance of Atlas! Yay! As always, feedback is very much appreciated.

** Chapter 2: Welcome to Rapture **

        Jack snapped shut the wallet he was holding, after spending a brief moment gazing at the photograph of his family that he had stashed into it. He took a drag on the cigarette that hung between his fingers, and breathed out a plume of grey smoke that joined the ever growing cloud inside the airplane. He could still make out the figure of the airhostess attending to the other passengers through the cloud, but they were only halfway through the flight. By the end of it, they would likely only be able to see a few seats in front of them.

        He reached for the only piece of hand luggage he had brought with him. A package, clad in blue patterned wrapping. He looked it over for the umpteenth time that day. He could just about recall Mom bringing it into him the week before, saying that it was an early birthday present, considering he would be gone for a while. Jack smiled for a short moment at the thought of his elderly mother, a woman he loved for her warmth and friendliness. Often, she would have a delicious meal waiting on the stove whenever he returned home from work. On special occasions, she would make a hot-pot stew, one of Jack’s favourites. It had been his birthday meal of choice for years. In fact, the first time he had it was the year his Mom had given him the warm knitted sweater he was wearing as he took his flight. It was like… a comfort blanket almost, a memory of home.

        The sound of lightning brought him out of his reverie. He idly glanced at the note attached to the front of the gift: ‘To Jack with love, from Mom & Dad. Would you kindly not open until-’ He was about to move the bow to glance at the co-ordinates that were underneath when the plane hit some major turbulence. It bounced him in his chair for a moment, when he could’ve sworn he felt his head hit something hard. That must have been the case in fact, since he could barely recall the events that followed. In his daze he could hear the airhostess asking someone to “return to their seat,” someone nearby, in fact. Then suddenly, there was a loud noise, probably thunder, followed by the screams of the people in the cabin. Through it, he heard a synthetic voice repeating the words “ _Pull up… Altitude… Pull up…_ ” which cut out in a burst of static. He felt weightless for a moment and felt the pit of his stomach rise into his chest.

        And then? Nothing.

* * *

 

        “So what happened?”

        The old man blinked, snapping out of the story as the woman who had sat next to him spoke.

        “I’m sorry?”

        She sighed and shook her head. “What happened? You must know.”

        The old man grinned a little and nodded. “Oh yes. I remember it clear as day now. But telling you now would ruin the story.”

        She huffed and rolled her eyes. “I see. Well, continue then.” She looked a little grumpy now.

        The young man inside the mind of the old man couldn’t help but laugh a little at the woman’s pouty expression. With a nod, the old man picked up the story.

* * *

 

        Jack came to, with a whine in his ears. His body no longer felt weightless. In fact, it felt heavy, pressured from all sides. He was being tossed around, and could hear only his heartbeat for the moment. It was rapid, like a marching drum. It was then that he realised he had been holding his breath. He was underwater. The realisation struck him suddenly, and he began to try and re-orientate himself. Some sort of bright light seemed to be coming from below him, and judging by the pounding in his head, that direction must have been up.

        As he spun, a yellow paisley purse floated past him, and a pearl necklace floated out towards him. He flapped it away, then gasped at the loud buzzing noise as some sort of large propeller whizzed just overhead, barely missing him. The gasp was a mistake, and disgustingly salty water filled his mouth and began to seep into his lungs. It felt like pure ice was being poured down his gullet, leaving him frozen on the inside and out.

        He watched in terror as some large, metallic shape dropped quickly down to the ocean floor, pulling the tide a little with him. With a kick of his legs, Jack managed to fight against the pull and make his way back to the surface of the water, guided by a bright orange light. The sun perhaps? It had been night-time on the flight, though. With the last vestiges of strength, he finally surfaced. Coughing and sputtering, he spewed out the offending water that had invaded him. He reached up and rubbed the ocean water from his eyes. Once he focused, he saw the source of the orange light. It was not the sun, no, but roaring flames, all around him. The heat from them was great enough to barely fight away the ocean’s chill.

        Jack trod water for a moment, trying to take in what had happened. The plane must have crashed. The plane… the people. He cast around, looking this way and that. Through the flames, he could’ve sworn he could’ve seen some human form, unmoving. “H-Hello!?” He choked out. “Is… is anyone else there?” His eyes kept searching as he heaved in the chilling night air.

        Only the wicked crackling of the fire and sloshing of the ocean’s tide met him, sounding for all the world like some sort of unknown monster’s laughter. He felt water trickle down his cheeks. Salty tears met the water of the Mid-Atlantic. With the air having restored some of his strength, Jack swam slowly towards some great structure that loomed nearby, funnelled towards it by the fire. As he went, he made out the tail-end of the plane he had been on not moments before, jutting out of the ocean. A few seconds later and it began to slowly sink, rumbling as it went. He made sure to swim clear of it. Whilst there may be some survivors near it, the pull of the debris may just drag him too towards the ocean floor. For now, he had to make it to the building in the hopes that other survivors had made it there.

        As he swam towards it, Jack craned his neck up to look at the imposing structure. It was a great, grey building, which thrust into the sky. At the very top, he could see a bright orb of light. Which meant that this building, sat upon a crag, was a lighthouse to warn ships of the danger. “ _Doesn’t seem to work for planes, huh?”_ came a thought. Jack pushed it away as he approached the lighthouse.

        A set of steps descended into the water, which Jack slowly clambered up. He was quite tall and stocky, but made all the heavy by the waterlogged sweater he was wearing. Well like hell was he taking it off. It would dry out eventually. The steps were flanked with flickering lamps, which buzzed a little as Jack passed them. Once at the top, Jack leant heavily on the stone barrier between him and the ocean. He gazed out, trying to pick out the splash of other people making their way towards him. Of course, he saw none.

        Looking over his shoulder, he noticed the giant brass door of the lighthouse stood ever so slightly ajar. The inside was pitch-black, but with the light from outside he could just about pick out a large shape in the darkness. Common sense told him not to go in there. It would only be a few hours before _someone_ would come and look for survivors. A plane doesn’t just crash without anyone knowing about it. And so, he stood there for a few moments and forlornly watched the dancing flames on the water and the sinking rear of the plane.

        But the curiosity was gnawing away at him. Right behind him could be warmth, food, drink and shelter from the cold until rescuers _did_ come. As they would. Jack’s curiosity had often got the better of him, leaving him in a heap of trouble. He had once gone against his Dad’s commands and entered the shed near his house, finding a large stash of weaponry there. He had got one hell of a scolding that night. Another time, he had ignored a warning sign near a building sight, and got a nasty bite from a vicious hound as reward.

        So of course, Jack found himself turning to face the entrance again. It was worth a look, at least? He stepped towards the doorway and poked his head in. He couldn’t see far for the gloom, so stepped a little further in. Then a little more. Before he knew it, he had come right over the threshold. His sweater _drip, drip, dripped_ onto the stone floor beneath his feet as he squinted into the darkness, not seeing any movement.

        Naturally, it was at that moment that the door behind him _creaked_ shut and finished with a resounding slam. The noise tore through the quiet and made Jack leap in fright. What little light had come in from outside was gone, leaving the man in inky darkness. He swung around and scrabbled for the door, and tried to force it open once he had found it. _“Oh my god, this is how I die, I’m gonna die in the middle of nowhere in a spooky lighthouse, I don’t want to die here! It’s cold and creepy and oh my god why won’t this open!?”_ his mind screamed for him as the door, indeed, refused to move.

        Then came a snapping and, thank god, light. It burst out, forcing the darkenss away and causing Jack to squint as it blinded him for a moment. He stumbled a little, and bumped into some sort of curved stone barrier. Rubbing his eyes, Jack blinked and looked up, only to yelp and kick back at the sight of _some sort of looming giant, glaring at him!_ It took a moment for rationality to return (alongside a normal breathing pattern and heartbeat), when Jack realised that the “giant” was in fact a gargantuan iron statue of the bust of a stern faced man in a suit. The statue held a red, tattered banner that proclaimed in bright gold lettering _No Gods or Kings. Only Man._ Jack wrinkled his nose at that. “Yeah, well you do you buddy.”

        His fear having left him, he took a moment to look around. It was all grey stone and gold or brass decoration, not quite gaudy but certainly not minimalistic. Some distant strain of music floated to meet his ears, something played on strings and a little tinny. Instinctively (perhaps just to get away from the statue), Jack followed the noise towards the back of the circular room and down some steps. As he went, more lights blinked on, giving him a path to follow. He then came upon another round room, underneath the Statue one. A split flight of stairs circled around some sort of… _sphere_ , from which the music seemed to come. He took the stairs carefully, for fear of slipping thanks to the water that was still dripping off him. Set into the walls were big, circular medallions with a designs tooled onto them, with words like _Industry_ and _Ingenuity_. Sounded like a heaping helping of fun.

        The stairs led him around to the around to the front of the sphere, revealing it to be a pod of some description. The music was _definitely_ coming from it. All in all, it actually looked quite comfortable. Red leather seats, a wooden floor. If anything, it should at least be warmer than outside.

        But in the middle of the pod, towards the back, was a lever. A nice, brass capped lever. Jack bit his lip. _“Wait for rescue_ ,” his mind told him, _“It won’t be much longer at all. We’ll just sit here and… god damn it._ ” Jack leapt inside the pod and pulled the lever. He wouldn’t be able to sit there for who knows how many hours knowing that a lever could be pulled! May as well get it over with. Besides, it’s what a lever was made to do.

        He immediately regretted his decision when the glass door of the pod swung closed, trapping him inside. The music cut out, and left him hearing loud mechanical noises as the pod began to descend into the water. Jack winced. _“No, not_ underwater _! Down is bad!_ ” Of course, his mental chiding wouldn’t stop the pod, so Jack just stood there, watching the stream of bubbles slide up along the door. At least he could breathe in here. All around him he could hear that muffled sound of the ocean, as only it sounds when you are submerged in it. Thankfully, the pod had some sort of light on the outside. It flickered and wasn’t the brightest, but it was enough for Jack to be able to see where he had gotten himself.

        As he descended, he came across signs on the façade opposite him. The first read _10 Fathoms_. Then: _18 Fathoms._ Schools of fish flittered around in the water, their scales glinting in the pod’s light. In a way, it was quite peaceful. Or at least, it would be, if it weren’t for the mounting concern Jack had. Before they could make it to the next sign, there was a whirring noise and a projector screen slid up into Jack’s view, blocking the glass viewport.

        A projected symbol was shown, followed by a cheerful jingle. On the screen, a man was lighting a woman’s cigarette with a flame that was… protruding from his finger? _“Fire at your Fingertips!”_ It read. _“Incinerate. Plasmids by Ryan Industries.”_ Jack blinked, trying to take in this message. As a kid, he had always dreamed of having superpowers. Controlling weather, throwing fire, flying, all that good stuff. Whatever these “Plasmids” were, he’d have to learn more when he got home.

        The jingle ended and flowed into a piece of music, as the image changed to one of a slightly gaunt gentleman reclining in a leather seat, smoking a pipe. It took Jack but a moment to realise that the man on screen was the same one depicted in the nightmare statue back in the lighthouse. Words on the screen read “ _From the Desk of RYAN.”_

        “Of Ryan Industries, I guess.” Jack muttered.

        Then a voice burst out from the pod’s speakers. “I am Andrew Ryan,” Jack fought the urge to chant “ _Hello Andrew Ryan.”_ The reel continued, unaware of its viewer’s childish impulse. “And I’m here to ask you a question. Is a man not entitled to the _sweat_ of his brow?”

        Jack shrugged as the image changed to an artist’s rendition of a worker in the fields dabbing at sweat on said brow. “I guess?”

       “No, says the man in Washington. It belongs to the poor. _No_ says the man in the Vatican, it belongs to God. _No_ , says the man in Moscow. It belongs to _everyone!_ ” The image changed between the poor worker being hounded by a large eagle, the hand of god, and some workers tools. Jack tipped his head. He'd heard about the communism scare, but he didn’t actually _know_ any communists. “I _rejected_ those answers. Instead, I chose something different. I _chose_ the impossible! I chose…” The image on the screen disappeared as it began to slide back into the pod.

        “Rapture,” finished ‘Andrew Ryan’, grandly. Jack looked out of the pod, gliding past a rocky outcropping covered with scuttling crabs. And as it crested the rock, he saw a sight like no other. Something that should in all reasoning, be impossible.

        There, at the bottom of the ocean, was a city. An honest-to-god city! It was too much to take in! Jack stepped back in astonishment as some sort of _giant squid_ whooshed over the pod. He gaped at the skyscrapers connected by transparent walkways, at the neon signs declaring the names of buildings and businesses. All manner of fish were swimming around nearby and in the distance. His heaviness and exhaustion were an afterthought, all blown away by the majesty of this place. Why hadn’t he _heard_ of this place before? It was… vast!

        He barely heard the voice of Andrew Ryan continue as the pod jetted along. “The city where the artist would not fear the censor. Where the scientist would not be bound by _petty morality_ , where the _great_ would not be constrained by the _small_.” That last word was said with no small amount of dripping derision. “And with the sweat of _your_ brow, Rapture could become your city… as well.”

        Jack wasn’t sure he wanted that.

        The pod began to pass under one of the walkways, within which Jack could make out… a living figure! It was moving! _“Oh thank god, actual people! I’m saved!_ ” went his thoughts. The figure seemed, even at this distance, to be quite large. All dressed up in some kind of… diving suit? Whoever they were, they were welding together part of the walkway judging by the sparks the leapt about inside it. It made sense, even a place like this must have janitors.

        How little he knew back then.

        His attention was grabbed away from the figure by some sort of wailing, moaning sound. A beast he knew as a whale was swimming beneath the sphere, and it was a _big_ one! He’d only seen something like that in a book or on TV!

        Another voice suddenly made itself apparent. But this one was not as clear as Andrew Ryan’s, and was slipping past some sort of static. “Lighthouse is all lit up like hellfire…” The voice was… Irish? Jack knew just a few Irishman, the ones that worked the fields around his family farm. Nice enough people, if a little solitary. “Looks like some kind of plane crash.”

        Jack tried to listen in to what he could make out, those he was somewhat distracted by the neon signs in front of him. They advertised places like the _Fleet Hall_ and _Sir Prize_ (cute). In fact, the pod had slowed down now, and seemed to be slipping into some sort of guiding track. Another voice responded to the Irishman, sounding flustered. “We’re in the middle of the Atlantic ocean! How could any- what’s that?”

        “I dunno but you best get over there. And be quick about it! The splicers are comin’.” Jack didn’t know what a ‘Splicer’ was, but it didn’t sound like the voices were very fond of them. The rail that the pod was attaching to had some sort of wording on them, light up with bulbs. _All good things of this earth flow into the city._ Jack sure hoped so.

        The panicked voice cut in again. “You gotta be kiddin’ me! How do you even know-?”

        The Irishman cut off the other voice. “There’s a bathysphere on the way. That means we’ve got company.” With that final comment, the static whine faded out, and the… what had they called it, the ‘Bathysphere’, was floating into a tunnel. Jack saw a few more advertisements for those Plasmid things (courtesy of Ryan Industries), as the pod began to rise.

        “Oh good. Up is good.” Jack rasped.

        Up was not good.

        As he ascended the second voice returned with that static whine, now sounding even more worried. “Just one more minute… the ‘sphere! The ‘sphere’s coming up now!”

        The Irishman cut in. “Johnny, the security’s bangin’ off all over! Get a move on!” Something was definitely wrong.

        The pod rose, finally breaking water. Through the streams of the stuff flowing down the pod’s window, Jack could make out two figures in front of him. One had their back to the pod, with their hands up in surrender. They were backing away from the other figure, who was half obscured in the shadows. The figure with their back to the pod spoke, and Jack could just about hear that it was the scared voice, the so-called ‘Johnny.’ And he was terrified. “Please lady, I-I mean no trespass. J-Just don’t hurt me!” His voice cracked with anguish.

        From the flickering light of the pod, Jack could only make out the scene now and then, sometimes having to pick their figures out in the darkness when the light went dead. It was like something out of one of Dad’s horror movies. He didn’t say a word, even holding his breath. But could he hear… humming?

        “Just let me go!” Johnny seemed on the verge of tears. The light flickered again and Jack saw the other figure had got closer. They were hunched over, and were holding what looked to be a pair of rusted metal hooks. The light wasn’t enough to make it… her(?) face. He was glad for that. Johnny had descended into a mess of wordless whimpers and had backed up almost against the bathysphere’s glass.

        Then, as though in slow motion, Jack heard an animalistic growl from the other figure, who bolted forward and sliced Johnny straight across the middle. He could hear the poor bastard’s blood spray the ground. To Johnny’s credit, he remained upright and continued to move backwards.

        Seemingly annoyed at this, the other figure bolted forward again, slamming into Johnny with enough force to slam him up against the bathysphere. Jack stumbled backwards into the lever with a rattled gasp. His shaking hand covered his mouth, trying to hold back a scream as the other figure rammed both hooks into Johnny’s sternum. Whether the sound of flowing and dripping was Johnny’s blood or simply water, Jack could no longer tell. The light flickered once more, and Jack saw the man’s back pressed up against the sphere’s glass. He heard the man gurgle as blood filled his lungs, his coughing and sputtering and then a final wet scream as the other figure tore the hooks out of him with a flourish. The light had gone out, but Jack could see Johnny reach weakly to his torn flesh, before collapsing off to the side.

        The other figure could still be seen, but only just. Jack could no longer hold his breath, it came in short, rapid bursts. _“I… I just watched that man die… and now…”_ He realised he was shaking all over and was pressed as far away from the glass as possible.

        The light flickered, and through the painting of blood on the glass, Jack could see the… the _creature_ peer through at him. Their face was a mess of bandages and bulging, misshapen skin. They let out a hissing breath, and spoke in a rasping, sickly voice. “Is it someone new…?” She intoned.

        Jack shook his head. _“N-Nope, nobody here but us chickens,”_ his mind responded. It was a form of coping, perhaps. If there was any coping in the face of death? There was another moments silence as the mishmash woman tried to spot him in the darkness. And the she _screamed_. An ear splitting wail from Jack’s nightmares. It went on for far too long, and Jack couldn’t help but mutter “No, no, no, no,” tearfully to himself as he curled up in the back of the sphere. _Why_ did he pull that damned lever?

        The thing leapt up out of sight and Jack heard a thump from the ‘Sphere’s roof. _“It’s gonna open up the roof. I’m like a fucking sardine in a can!”_ The sphere began to rock in its mantle as the creature shifted around. There was the screech of metal on metal as it tried to cut its way in. Jack tried to get his balance and stumbled this way and that. “Go away! _Go away!_ ” He screamed, finally finding his voice.

        The rocking became more intense and Jack was thrown to the floor, banging his head on one of the seats. Still, the creature fought to get at him. Parts of the roof began to puncture, exposing sparking wires. The metal continued to scream against the abuse, piercing its way into Jack’s mind. But then, the rocking stopped. He shakily climbed to his feet, and saw the thing leap off the roof and back onto the path in front of the sphere. It looked over its shoulder at Jack and stalked away, seemingly tired with the attempt to get at him.

        Jack collapsed onto the seat he had crashed into and dropped his head into his hands. He closed his eyes and tried to regain his breath. Still shaking, of course. His nerves were fried, and it felt like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. Then came that static whine again, and the Irishman’s voice, gentle. “Would you kindly pick up that shortwave radio?”

        He raised his head and looked for the source of the voice, identifying it as a handheld box, similar to the radio he had seen Dad using in the past, just… smaller. It was helpfully labelled _Shortwave Radio._ Jack reached out and took it. “H-Hello…?” He weakly muttered.

        The Irishman’s voice returned with a heavy sigh. The voice was sombre. “I don’t know how that plane crash, but I’ve never been one to question providence. I’m Atlas, and I aim to keep you alive. Now keep on moving. We’re gonna have to get you to higher ground.” As he finished talking, the door to the Bathysphere rumbled open. From outside, Jack’s senses were assaulted. First came a great chill, then the heavy scent of blood. Jack fought to keep from throwing up his meal from earlier in the day. For the moment Jack just stood there, staring out of the sphere, taking in these senses. “Take a deep breath and step outside the Bathysphere. I won’t leave you twistin’ in the wind.”

* * *

 

­­­­        “And that was… Atlas?”

        “Indeed it was, young lady. That man would be my greatest ally in Rapture.”

        The woman frowned and glanced at the ward door before returning those blue eyes to the old man in the bed. “You didn’t think there was anything weird?” She seemed unconvinced.

        “You mean aside from the screaming murderer? Forgive me for being a touch distracted at that time. Collecting my thoughts wasn’t… easy.” He shook his head. Even now, it hurt to look back on those first few moments in Rapture.

        “And this is the Radio?” The woman had stood and come to his other side and was looking at the mechanical box she had picked up off the bedside table. It hadn’t left Jack for years. Sure, it was dinged up, salt-encrusted and had the remains of a few barnacles on it, but it was the very same radio he had picked up in the Bathysphere.

        “That’s right. You’re looking at a direct line to Atlas.” The old man chuckled. The woman pulled a face at that and set the radio down. She looked a little repulsed. The old man had kept the radio around as a sort of… momento, he supposed. It was, ironically, relaxing to have it nearby. Like he could hold the transmit button, then wait and hear Atlas return with some advice. Of course, the radio no longer worked, but it had still comforted the old man to talk into it now and then. Almost as though he was updating Atlas on the situation as he had all those years ago. “Don’t know why I still keep it around.” Liar.

        The woman shrugged at that and was about to settle back into her chair when there came another knock at the ward door. It slid open, and the Nurse poked his head in. “I’m so sorry, but visiting hours are over.” He looked at the two of them awkwardly.

        In time, both the old man and the woman looked out of the long window, seeing that the sky had now become a dull orange as the sun set. The woman nodded and leant over to the old man, squeezing his hand again. “I’ll come back tomorrow, I promise.”

        The old man nodded at her with a smile, then turned his eyes towards the window, watching the light trickle away. The woman left with the nurse, who closed the door behind him. If he listened carefully, the old man could just about hear their footsteps as they walked down the hallway, leaving him with his old, old memories.


End file.
